


everything left is a waste of time

by Sasebo



Category: Servamp (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Cigarette Burning, M/M, Minor Choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 10:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20674115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sasebo/pseuds/Sasebo
Summary: “I’m not fine.”





	everything left is a waste of time

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from @xchibikai on Twitter. Just gotta get out my self-indulgent Touma/Iori while I can. wipes tears from my eyes
> 
> also i realize it's super weird to use a last name and a first name in the same fic but it's fine just pretend it's cohesive thank you

“I’m not fine.”

It’s rare that Iori admits that he is anything less than doing perfectly well, and while many would find it touching that he was willing to open up at all, Touma isn’t able to see it as anything but an unnecessary annoyance. ‘Fine’ is a ridiculous concept, a facade that people wasted their time with that Touma has never truly understood the point of.

Iori gets the response that he expected as Touma wordlessly pulls an extra cigarette out of his carton on the nightstand table and offers it to him without sparing him so much as a glance. It would be nothing to most people, perhaps even offensive, but here and with Touma, it brings a tired smile to Iori’s face.

“Thank you.” Iori pushes himself up into a sitting position, until his bare back is pressed against the headboard of Touma’s bed. His slender fingers take the cigarette from Touma, and for a second, their hands brush together.

Touma immediately retracts his hand, scoffing. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

It isn’t true -- Iori knows that the ways Touma shows affection are slight. They’re easy to miss if they aren’t being looked for, and for most people they wouldn’t be enough.

Iori places the cigarette between his lips, leaning his head against Touma’s shoulder as the dark-haired man raises the lighter to it. It flickers in the dark, and for a moment, Iori can see Touma clearly. His features are curled into a scowl, and it’s so quintessentially Touma that the smile on Iori’s face only grows more genuine.

His siblings had always resented the fact that he’d started smoking, but it helped with the stress of the job and, more privately, it brought him closer to Touma. It was an unhealthy habit and just one of many examples of Touma’s terrible influence, but there were so few times that Iori actually rebelled against their family’s expected perfection that there was something freeing about it.

Perhaps that was Touma’s entire appeal -- someone who did whatever they wanted without consideration for anyone else’s expectations. He was entirely himself, and while that might not particularly be a good thing, Iori couldn’t help but envy it.

He closes his eyes as he exhales smoke, holding the cigarette between his fingers once again and listens for a moment for the steady rise and fall of Touma’s own breath. “It’s a shame we’re not in our prime anymore. We might have managed a second round.”

“Don’t talk like we’re old men.”

“Aren’t we though?” There is a fondness to Iori’s tone, although he can’t help but wonder how much longer, really, the two of them could keep going. Magic took its toll on its user, and Iori’s could be especially drastic. If there was ever a day that Miyako wasn’t able to reach him in time…

“Tch.” Another scoff. Touma has never feared death. He’s wanted it, ever since he’d been younger, trapped in his own home with Tsurugi locked carefully away in his basement. The concept of aging, however, had always been strange to him. Even now, he looked at Tsurugi the way he always had -- the pathetic little animal that clung to his hand. Likewise, Iori had never changed to him either. He was still the same rich bastard who didn’t deserve a single bit of the luxury and success that had been granted to him for his name alone.

Iori finds comfort in the brief glimmers of Touma’s affection. Touma finds it in the way that when they’re like this, just the two of them in bed, he can finally be the one with total domination. He snuffs his cigarette out on the ashtray beside his bed before he grabs Iori’s and presses it against his inner wrist. Iori is used to bearing with pain, smiling even when he’s close to his limit, but something about Touma always makes him gasp in wonder.

It’s only when that too is extinguished that Touma sets it beside his own, ignoring the brief sparks of ember before he turns to finally face Iori, grabbing his throat so he can tilt his head up. It’s sickening, how easy that Iori can smile even like this, like he knows that no matter how deeply Touma resents him for his circumstances, that he won’t kill him.

Instead, he kisses him, rough enough to bruise, until Iori’s fingers are tangled in his hair and he’s pulling Touma until he’s on top of him again. It’s as grotesque as it is wonderful, and for that split moment, Iori can taste that sense of freedom he so desperately craves in between the smoke and the taste of Touma’s tongue.

When Touma pulls back, breaking the strand of saliva between them, he snarls, taking a fistful of Iori’s hair and jerking his head backwards. It’s a painful angle, one that reveals the jugular of his throat, and one that makes Iori’s smile all the more devious.

“Don’t ever misunderstand me -- I don’t care even if you break.”

Iori’s grin is almost sickening in response, and Touma desperately wants to wipe it off his face. “I wouldn’t be here if you would.”

Touma lets go of Iori’s hair so abruptly that it makes his head snap forward before rolling off him entirely. Iori can feel his heart racing in his chest, even as Touma shifts away from him, reaching once again for his cigarette. It’s at this point that Iori usually leaves, although lately, it’s becoming more and more confusing about what he’s supposed to do. He starts to get out of bed, only to hear Touma scoff in the way that can only mean his disapproval.

“Where are you going? Just go to sleep already. If you’re too tired to talk at the meeting tomorrow, they’ll try to make me do it.”

It’s one of the nicer ways, really, that Touma has asked him to stay the night.

“Alright.” Iori thinks about adding a playful ‘if you insist,’ but as it is, he knows that it’s a quick way to get thrown out of Touma’s apartment. When he sinks back onto the mattress, it’s easy to fall asleep beside Touma, curled up in the center of the bed so they’re close enough to be touching. It isn’t a position that Touma is particularly fond of, but for now, he doesn’t bother to push Iori away.

Instead, he simply finishes his cigarette before rolling over, hand resting on the small of Iori’s back. Even though he’s still asleep, he can feel Iori relax against the touch in a way that makes him consider pulling back entirely.

“No one is ever ‘fine,’ Tsukimitsu.” He can only say it now that Iori is asleep, unable to hear him. “You’re strong enough to survive.”

Between the two of them, that is the only thing that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
if you wanna prompt me, feel free to hit me up @cannibalizing on twitter or drop an ask in my tumblr @kamiya-tsurugi ♡


End file.
